The Truth about Misery
by GaleaAponeurotica
Summary: A grim reality about severe depression


**The Truth about Misery**

Author's Note: I do not own Gankutsuou characters (although I did once wished it was mine LOL).

Summary: A grim reality about severe depression.

* * *

_Tomorrow, I may not be here again_. 

This is what Edmond Dantes felt inside in Chateau d If without any objective reasons. It was such an unforgiving incident where he clearly remembered he was about to get married when abruptly; soldiers came to seize the young man. The bewildered Edmond had no choice but to follow their orders as his father appealed the immediate explanation about the arrest of his only son.

He could painfully see the cries of his beloved, Mercedes, who witnessed the horrific scene of soldiers, escorted Edmond as they took him away from the church to the carriage.

"It serves you right for a traitor like you." A soldier exclaimed jubilantly.

Edmond cannot understand why those words declare in his presence. His innocence remained whole as he stumbled over the unseen stony step.

The worst is yet to come.

* * *

As night reigns in, darkness could have swallow Edmond completely as he already abandon praying from the high entity. Those years of miseries and pain creep slowly into his mind, dictating into one attempt that can free him from these inhuman cornered walls…and that is to commit suicide. 

A desperate man he is, Edmond takes a decision that it can be his last hope to attain freedom. How in this mad world claims that he betrayed his country? At least, his soul will be free from anger and hatred. The twists and turns of unfortunate happenings can only conclude a rational explanation from the thought-provoking individual.

Nevertheless, misery indeed came to his life like an angel of death.

Edmond succumbs into the floor, as he gazes above to the prison ceilings. He notices that it has tiny holes. Water drips down continuously, as the repetitive sound of it is the only music that calms his insane mind. Wild rats relentlessly roam around his premises without sensing danger from him, as it munches his left over bread and soup. The barred window shows moonlight shining over the quiet sea, reflecting the phosphorescent light it brings. He stares to the stars, wishing that the diamond-lit sky continues to twinkle until he falls to sleep.

However, his eyes and mind never seem to surrender to his favor.

His clothes were marked with dirt and holes as he can tell that he can no longer recognize himself. A clear mirror is a classic example reflecting the once handsome and promising Edmond Dantes became the unknown and despaired one. His overgrown and unkempt hair clump together as his beard extends down to his chest with pathetic and bloodsucking lice. Adding insult to his overall being, the foul human scent invades the atmosphere recklessly.

_Indeed, I am one of those miserable lice, which does nothing but to suck blood until it had enough._

The wretched Edmond positions to one corner, scrutinizing the height and width of his cell, he can tell that no prisoner will survive this demoralizing aura. Perhaps, the only factor that makes him at the brink of his insanity is killing time.

Time is barbaric when a vulnerable human being has nothing to do to occupy his ever-hungry mind. If truth about misery can orate itself, then he should have listen intensively. An idea quickly enters his mind, like lightning struck to the ground, as he begins to rip a piece of his tattered clothing. Edmond forcefully pulls it away, shredding out from his sleeve. A leftover bottled ink and quill lies in other side.

He crawls across to his cell, reaching out the quill and bottled ink as he begins to write his mundane feelings and thoughts coming out from his heart and mind.

When madness comes at this age

I seclude myself to darkness.

Fear of being mock and beaten to death

I turn my eyes and ears away from realities.

The story of afflicted and wasted

Whose anguish is pouring out to empty cell?

My days and nights have vanished like smoke

I am withered and dried like grass

Too wasted to eat the hours.

The loud groaning hunger

What become me are bones

which skeletal being is inhumanely distressed.

I fly awake and moan

Like a vulture soaring the skies

And scavenging the scorching desert

Waiting the prey to be dead.

Edmond laughs maniacally at the empty space of his cell, adding the echoes of Chateau d If's eerie silence. He discovers that he has an innate talent in literary works. As if that was not enough, the infamous prison becomes more like a mental hospital with patients die not from their illnesses but from their neurotic betrayal.

He stands up from his seat as he begins to ram his head violently against the sturdy walls. A loud sound of thud resonates into his ears, as he feels no pain from it. Perhaps, lunacy had already given him an immunity to pain.

This time, Edmond mercilessly throws himself against it. Results have met when drops of blood emerges out from the fresh scar that he induces. Again, a maddeningly elated prisoner raises his arms above his head, glorifying that he fears neither suffering nor death. Somehow, a strange necromantic figure arises from the concrete divider.

Another shift of his cryptic personality rears its ugly head.

Edmond sarcastically proclaims that the evil entity had successfully overtaken his mind, body and soul as if he has given another life to redeem himself. The monstrous spirit appears deathly over his forehead as he commands the new Edmond the puppet to compel his wishes. His reddish blood becomes blue, altering a human being into a demon-like appearance. Its look no longer shows the weak and poor, who is prone to victimization but rather vengeful and intimidating one.

Perhaps the only way to appreciate his grim life is to avenge the death of Edmond Dantes, who suffered severely at the hands of men. Those greedy and hateful men, who had driven the poor captain-to-be to the sole state of personal calamity, became evident. The vile Edmond has his thoughts and actions of self-destructive behaviors appear swiftly, therefore shortening his misery.

Alas, misery became a living figure, in a form of the Count of Monte Cristo.


End file.
